


New Tricks

by lonelywalker



Category: Brothers & Sisters
Genre: Jossed, M/M, Motorbikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/pseuds/lonelywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Saul three weeks to fall in love with Henry's bike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Tricks

It takes Saul three weeks to fall in love with Henry's bike.

In the first week he sees it only as a sign of immaturity. Motorbikes, in his mind, are strictly the province of daredevil young men with more machismo than sense, and the middle-aged, unfit and balding who are going through a midlife crisis and hoping to recover their youth. Henry might be good-looking for his age, might be as fit as Saul's youngest nephew, might have a good head of hair that's barely turning gray... But Saul doesn't like the bike. He wants a mature, intellectual, serious person he can introduce to his family without wincing. And the bike... The bike has got to go.

By the time the second week rolls around, when Saul's fingers have traced all of Henry's scars, when he's found re-sewn tears in that battered old leather jacket, he learns to be scared of it. Even if Henry's been riding since he was a child, even if he always wears a helmet, Saul reads news snippets about fatalities on the road and feels his stomach clench. Perhaps, at his age, at Henry's age, he should be more worried about lingering illnesses than sudden death at some badly-signposted intersection. But he's just beginning to learn the patterns of Henry's body, all tightly-knit sinew, and the easy flow of his muscles, and he can't bear the idea of seeing him ripped apart.

On the weekend marking the close of the third week, Saul sits on the steps outside Henry's apartment building and watches his lover - his _boyfriend_ \- lovingly tinker with his bike.

"Can't you pay someone to do that for you?" he asks, sipping iced tea and shading his eyes against the sun. Nora and the others don't know about Henry yet, don't know that their dear old Uncle Saul has anything better to do with his time than fill out crosswords and walk in the park with other bored retired men. Even this feels exciting and illcit just because it's a secret.

Henry glances up at him, crouched by the bike, oil smeared over his fingers. "That would cost an arm and a leg, and I wouldn't know it had been done correctly. Would you let someone do your accounts for you?"

"Someone I trusted..."

"Choose a wine for you?" Henry interjects. Three weeks, and he already knows all of Saul's weak points.

Saul takes another sip, admitting defeat. Physical labor might not be his favorite activity, but watching Henry work isn't so bad. Sitting by himself and watching the world go by had been depressing just a few weeks ago, when he'd have seized any opportunity to help Nora with her charity project. But now, as people go by - mothers with tiny children, older couples with dogs, handymen carrying ladders and tools - he doesn't feel quite as useless, or as alone.

He's spent so much of his life denying his attraction to men that he had had little idea what he was really looking for when he had decided that dating men just might be a possibility. Did he have a _type_? Milo certainly wasn't unattractive, and had always been fun to be around and a good conversationalist, but he hadn't been the one Saul had wanted then, and he's still not the one Saul wants now.

Henry's lying on his back in the sunshine, knees bent, nimble fingers working on the underside of the bike. He's not Milo, and he doesn't have the chiseled, might-as-well-be-a-model looks of some of Scotty's Hollywood friends, but Saul can't help but stare. Well-muscled arms, streaked with oil and dirt from the ground, his undershirt pulled up just a little, exposing the trail of downy dark hair leading down to...

"Are you staring at my crotch?" Henry asks, his tone conversational, his eyes still on his bike.

Saul swallows his mouthful of tea a little too quickly.

***

The undershirt comes off when they're still in the hallway, Saul finding new avenues of aggression and sheer need as he presses Henry back against the door of his apartment, sweat and oil rubbing off onto his fingers as he peels off the shirt and Henry somehow finds his keys.

"Do they all know?" Saul asks, a little breathless, and putting it down to arousal rather than the fact that he desperately needs to get a gym membership he'll actually use.

Henry drags him into the apartment and shoves the door closed, kissing him, fingers working on the buttons of his shirt, finding a way inside. Obviously the question of whether his neighbors know he's in the habit of seducing other men is very far from his mind, and it's rapidly being pushed out of Saul's.

If the first time they'd made love had been sweet and gentle and a little hesitant, there's no nervousness in the atmosphere now, no need to act their ages and live up to expectations and do nothing but sedately hold hands on the couch. Saul's gone sixty years without being well and truly _fucked_ by someone he wants more than his mind or body can comprehend. He needs that satisfaction now.

Torn jeans slip away easily from slim hips, and it's always like this - Henry so effortlessly comfortable in his own skin, and Saul clinging to his own clothes as some kind of protection. There are times he wonders if he could have had that confidence, too, if he had grown up brave and defiant like Henry, if he had endured the loss of some friends and found others, if he had faced persecution and homophobia and been hated and loved for who he was...

"Penny for your thoughts?" Henry asks, kissing him on the lips and pushing him back onto the bed, with the bundled up duvet they haven't rearranged since last night.

Saul, his shirt open, feeling exposed but not as afraid as he had been the first time, reaches out his hands to pull Henry down with him. "This shouldn't all be so new," he murmurs, Henry's beard scratching his lips, Henry's erection stirring his own.

"You know," Henry says, rolling over onto his side, his left hand warm and deft at Saul's groin, ripping his belt open, unzipping the fly. "It's all very new for me too."

"New for you," Saul repeats. New for _Henry_ , who first slept with a man as a teenager, who's had everything from one-night-stands to long-term relationships, from sordid blowjobs in bathrooms to something that might as well have been a marriage.

Henry smiles, his laugh a hum against Saul's cheek as his hand strokes him into an aching hardness he just can't escape. "Everything about you is new, Saul."

He's going to move down Saul's body, plant his knees against the carpeted floor, and his mouth... _God_ , Saul's knuckles had been white the first time he'd felt Henry's mouth around him. He might have been daunted at the prospect of having a much more experienced lover, particularly at his age, but it has certain benefits too. Many, many benefits.

"Wait," he says as Henry kisses him and begins to move away. "Wait. I want to..."

His hand is a gentle but insistent pressure on Henry's shoulder, pushing him onto his back as Saul steals another kiss and moves back, pushing off his pants and underwear, borrowing a little of Henry's courage. "I need you to let me," he says against Henry's lips.

Henry swallows and blinks, his lips dry as he watches Saul pull away. Saul's read about doing this, has thought about what it might be like to do it, but it had never seemed very _appealing_ until he'd met Henry, until he had started to think of what a rush it would be to taste Henry's cock with his tongue, to feel the hot pulse of him, to have a desirable man completely at his mercy.

He kisses those tight, straining muscles at the base of Henry's abdomen, where hairs curl up against his lips and he can lick salty sweat from his skin. This is sex, he considers as he does it, his hand stroking Henry's cock, gently squeezing, feeling his need. This is fucking without consideration for politeness, where the damned _intent_ is to leave the sheets stained with sweat and dirt and come.

Saul takes Henry into his mouth, and hopes that they wake the neighbors.

***

"I should teach you to ride," Henry says in that comfortable, lazy tone he adopts in bed. The duvet is on the floor, the white sheets scarred with oil. Saul has long ago relaxed into Henry's arms and forgotten about any pressing need to take a shower. "You'd like it, I think. You think you wouldn't, but you would."

Saul closes his eyes, still tasting Henry on his lips, savoring the experience, wondering how long that memory will remain fresh, and when they can do it again. Sometimes, he has to wonder whether his cock has ever matured past eighteen. "I'll check that my medical insurance is up to date."

"It's not so dangerous. It's not as though you're some punk kid smoking pot and text messaging."

There's a scar on Henry's right shin, white and thin and mostly hidden by freckles and hair, but there's a scar there Saul's kissed and doesn't want to see reopened.

Saul takes a breath. "Scotty says there's a wine tasting near San Estephe next week. Would you like to come?"

"I'd love to," Henry says easily. "Dangerous as it may be to go anywhere near your family. I haven't met a single one of them yet. Am I such an uncultured boor?"

"You're perfect." Saul pats his thigh, and sighs. "Maybe if it's somewhere quiet. Somewhere I'm not going to be chased around by boy racers and laughed at if I fall off going 5 miles an hour."

Henry chuckles and squeezes him. "I've fallen off while stationary before, Saulie. Don't worry about it."

And he could worry about so many things - the future of this relationship, how he could ever introduce Henry to his sister, nephews and nieces without the poor man heading for the hills, and what Henry might do when he finally discovers that Saul really is just an old man without an exciting bone in his body.

But he thinks about that body pressed to Henry's, gingerly steering a bike around traffic cones, thinks about Henry kissing his cheek, whispering encouragement in his ear, promising a very tempting reward in the shower afterward, and he knows he has to try.

He reaches over to see just how quickly he can get Henry hard.


End file.
